


Junk of the Heart

by liamsfreckles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Depression, Ficlet, M/M, Post-Band, sorry if its sad, sort of autobiographical?, there's not much romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamsfreckles/pseuds/liamsfreckles
Summary: This isn’t anything really. Just a lot of angst and feelings. You can read it any way you’d like. It’s unbeta’d and probably not great, but it’s from the heart and maybe gets me out of my funk. Enjoy (and thank you for sticking around) x





	Junk of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> title from The Kooks _Junk of the Heart_

The air in Liam’s room was stale, almost sour. The curtains - those blessed dark navy ones he’d purchased when Harry had suggested them to him for those times where jetlag would kick his ass - were drawn shut, no light peeking through. 

He’d not left his bedroom in three days.  _Three_ whole days. He’d let his phone die out 12 hours ago when he couldn’t be fucked to plug it in once more. He’d told his mum he was fine, that he was enjoying the break and had plans to go visit them on the weekend, even though in his current state, he wasn’t arsed to go anywhere.

He hated feeling like this.

It was just a band, right? Just a job. He’d watched the others move on - fuck, even Niall had moved forward - and while he was doing his own thing, parts of him were breaking at the idea he’d never be part of something as  _big_  as One Direction ever again.

Forgotten. Now he was destined to be some wannabe popstar who couldn’t hack it going solo. He didn’t feel that rush of excitement or that nervous energy that came from something new. No: all he felt was a deep ache in his hips and back, and an emptiness in his chest. 

It wasn’t just about the fame, or the band, or even the lads. There were other heavy factors that came to play, too. Things he hadn’t thought about for a long time. Things that had plagued him from when he was a teen just trying to not be invisible anymore.

He didn’t want to be invisible again.

He sighed, curling up on his side, arms wrapping around an errant pillow. 

-

“How’d you even get my home phone number?”

“I’m quite charming when I want to be,” Louis replied, voice laced with concern. Liam hated it. “Your mum gave it to me.”

Liam sighed, burying his face into his pillow. He had to remind himself to unplug his line for a few days. “I’m fi-”

“Payno, you may not think me the most observant fellow on the planet, but I am fairly certain that you are not fine,” Louis cut him off. “When was the last time you left the house? Or your room, even?”

Liam stayed quiet.

“Exactly,” Louis pressed. “Look, we all go through it, and we all know you’re going through it right now. Not pressing your or nothing, but - talk to us, Li. Talk to  _me_.”

An ache started to build in Liam’s throat, tightening the muscles, threatening to close him off. He screwed his eyes shut. “Someone’s ringing me doorbell,” he lied, voice barely above a whisper. “C’n I call you back?”

Louis sighed. “Sure, Payno. Sure.”

-

The first thing Liam noticed when he woke up the next morning was that there was too much light in his room.

He groaned a little, screwing his eyes tight shut in an attempt to block out the brightness, searching for the covers to bring over his head. He frowned, blindly groping around him, know for certain he’d fallen asleep with his comforter pulled up to his chin.

“Your room smells rank, mate.”

Liam froze, and his muscles tensed almost painfully. Surely he was imagining things: and that voice - that oh so familiar voice - was a figment of his imagination. He’d gone so long without leaving his room, his nest of sadness, that he was finally starting to hear things.

The voice sighed, “are you really going to be like this?”

Liam cracked his eyes open slowly, hating the burn that came with it. It was almost as though they were parched - dry and begging for relief. He blinked a few times, letting his wide pupils adjust to the early morning light, before they settled on a lean figure perched at the edge of his bed.

“Zayn?” Liam winced. His voice was rough, laden with sleep and lack of use. “What’re…you’re not…”

“You’re getting up,” Zayn cut him off, a warning in his voice. His hair was a thick mess atop his head, and was sporting a serious beard. He wore a grey henley one size too large for his frame, and a pair of black Nike sweats. “You’re going to shower. And you’re going to come downstairs in fifteen minutes. If you don’t, I swear to god, Liam….”

Liam frowned. “What are you doi-”

Zayn held up his hand, stopping Liam from speaking further. “Fifteen minutes,” he repeated, getting up from Liam’s bed to pad towards the window. Liam watched as Zayn cracked one open, letting fresh air filter into the heaviness of his room. “I’ll be downstairs.”

-

It took two minutes for Liam to find his equilibrium and force himself out of bed. He stumbled his way through his bedroom and to the ensuite, where he fumbled with the shower settings, letting the water heat up while he shucked off his sweats and t-shirt.

He climbed in, hissing slightly as the scalding water hit his oversensitive, achy skin. He grit his teeth, however, and stood directly in front of the spray, letting it soak through his body, washing away the sleep and grime and the tension in his muscles. 

He showered slowly, taking his time to lather up and rinse, washing his hair  _three times_  because he didn’t even remember the last time he’d done so. He didn’t bother with a shave, though his face was at the itchy stage of beard growth.

He shut off the water and grabbed his towel from the hook beside his walk-in shower, drying himself off quickly before knotting the towel around his waist. 

He ignored the mirror.

He pulled on some relatively clean clothes: a pair of grey joggers and a white t-shirt, ignoring the protest of his back as he bent down to tug on some socks. He ran his fingers through his hair, easing through the tangles, and sighed. 

He forced his feet to move, forced himself out of the safehaven that was his bedroom. He made his way downstairs, his senses assaulted with the scent of freshly brewed tea and something frying in the kitchen.

He reached the edge of the kitchen when Watson came bounding towards him, a mass of limbs and rumbling whines and wet licks to Liam’s clean face. 

“What’re…” Liam was sure his mum had taken Watson home with her last week when he’d begged her to - knowing that he couldn’t even take care of himself, let alone the dog. He brought his hands up to Watson’s large head, coaxing the dane down in fear of being knocked down.

“I picked him up from your mum’s this morning,” Zayn said by way of explanation. His back was to Liam as he hovered over the stove. “Did you know pets are good for people with depression? They can sense when something is up.”

Liam’s face crumpled slightly, dark brows knitting together. “M’not…I mean, it’s not…”

“ _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s okay, yeah? We’ve talked about this. Your mum called me in a right state, said I was gonna be the only one to get through to you,” he continued quietly. “So just…sit, and let me take care of you.”

Liam smoothed his fingers gently over Watson’s head, playing with the floppy ears, his dark eyes wide and caught between the need to fight or run away. He opted instead, however, to pad over to the stool tucked under the island in his kitchen. He pulled it out and sat upon it, letting Watson rest his head in Liam’s lap while Zayn turned with a mug of tea in hand and set it in front of him, a small smile on his lips.

Liam went to say thank you, but Zayn shook his head. 

“Not yet.”

-

After a breakfast that consisted of an omelette made of kale, mushrooms, goat cheese and sundried tomatoes, and a good helping of blueberries that Zayn insisted he eat, Zayn loaded the dishwasher and let Liam finish his tea.

They were quiet, for the most part. It wasn’t uneasy or awkward. In fact, it was quite peaceful and comfortable. 

Liam observed Zayn quietly. It had been months since he’d seen the other man, but it felt as though it had been no time at all. 

The thick hair and beard suited him greatly. He looked healthy and warm. He noted the new ink on Zayn’s knuckles, head tilting as his mind wandered to the significance of the symbols. He wondered what they meant, and what they meant to Zayn.

He watched as Zayn hooked the tea towel he’d been using onto the handle of the oven, and then turned back to Liam. “So,” the dark haired man began, folding arms over his chest. He was broader there, too, Liam noted. “What do you want to do?”

Liam blinked.  _Do_? His heart gave an erratic thump. He didn’t want to do anything. This was already too much. “I don’t…” he began, hating the way his voice sounded.

“We don’t have to leave the house,” Zayn assured, eyes warm. “But you need to do something today, Li. Even if it’s something small.”

Liam folded his hands in his lap, glancing down to them as he chewed on his lower lip in thought. He remembered that he’d wanted to reorganize his study - this was months ago, before it felt like the world was going to crush him. It was in desperate need of a clean up. And his comic collection wasn’t going to alphabetize itself.

“Could we…” he began, clearing his throat. “I need to clean my study.”

A smile broke out across Zayn’s face. “We can do that, yeah? You’ve got a telly in there too, right? Could put on a film…”

Liam nodded, his nose wrinkling slightly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Zayn rounded the island, waiting for Liam to get up from the stool. He scratched dull fingers through his beard and slid off the seat, padding over to Zayn before making his way past him, through the kitchen and down the hallway towards his study. 

The room was rather big, with a large window facing his backyard bringing in tons of natural light. His desk and computer were pushed up against the window, and littered with letters, documents and unopened envelopes that he knew he’d have to get to at some point.

On the wall to his left hung all his gold and platinum records, and a few of the awards they’d won over the years sat on shelves, in desperate need of a dusting. He enjoyed cleaning, and always rolled his eyes when someone suggested hiring someone to come in to do it for him. But everything just….

He frowned a little, fighting off the tightening in his chest. 

Zayn joined him moments later, his hands full of a few DVD’s. “Want to pick or do you want me to?” He asked, quirking a brow as he gently nudged Liam’s hip with his own. 

Liam let his features smooth out, glancing down to the cases in Zayn’s hands. “Toy Story?” He asked, turning his eyes up towards the other man.

Zayn’s lip quirked. “Sure, Li. Anything for you.”

Zayn made his way over to the television that sat on the wall with his awards, and popped the disc out of its case to push into the player. Liam turned away from Zayn to glance at the other wall: a plush, dark brown leather couch settled in the middle of a custom-made bookcase made out of dark stained wood. Here were his comics, graphic novels and books. Books Harry had bought him as Christmas gifts, or ones he’d picked up at various airports around the world when he didn’t want to bother with trashy mags. He loved this room, because there was a sense of accomplishment in here: a sense of pride. 

The opening bars of the Disney theme began Liam turned back to Zayn, who had his eyes on the telly. Liam came to stand next to him, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his joggers, barely a hairsbreadth away from his best mate.

They stood, watching the opening for a moment, with Zayn giggling when Woody exclaimed ‘you’re my best friend!’ to Andy, before nudging Liam gently. “I’m gonna go get some cleaning stuff, and then we can start, yeah?”

Liam nodded, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

Zayn darted out of the room, leaving Liam alone once more, and for once it didn’t feel all-consuming. 

He started on bringing down his awards, setting them on the coffee table in the middle of the study, one by one. He glanced briefly at the engravings, swallowing down that familiar ache in his throat as he found himself reminiscing on days forgotten. 

He held one of his Brit Awards in his hands, turning it over gently between his fingers, when Zayn’s fingers caught his jaw.

“Hey,” Zayn murmured, coaxing Liam to look up. “Where’d you go just now?”

Liam swallowed. He tried to look everywhere but into Zayn’s eyes, not wanting the other man to see too much. Not the ache, not the sadness. He didn’t want Zayn seeing him like  _this_  - like some pathetic idiot who couldn’t get his shit together. 

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled back, the lie heavy on his tongue. “Jus’ remembering, is all.”

Zayn glanced down to the award in Liam’s hands, taking it carefully from him. “Do you remember the night before this award show? And how I was proper bricking it, because - like, it was the  _Brits_ , and we were told it was going to either make or break us?”

Liam swallowed. It felt wrong. He nodded.

“And you snuck out of your room to come over to mine, and I told you about my anxiety and how I was scared and then you stayed with me that night, and we watched episodes of Friends and we ordered room service at like two AM because we could and you wanted to see me smile?” Zayn continued, stepping in closer, so that Liam could feel his warmth. “It scared me to tell you, you know. Because I’d not told anyone except my family about that. But with you, it was always easy. Comfortable. And I want you to be able to reciprocate that with me, okay? I’m not here to judge, or offer life-altering advice. I’m just here. Because you need someone right now, and because I miss you, Liam. The real you.”

Liam took a shaky breath through his nose, and exhaled it noisily through pursed lips. He missed the real Liam, too. He’d not felt like himself for so long, that he couldn’t distinguish the difference between who he was, and what his depression made him. He didn’t shy away when Zayn thumbed a tear gently from underneath his eye, but simply tilted into the touch.

“We’ll get there, yeah? You and I? And I’ll be here for as long as you need.”

Liam nodded, and without preamble, threw his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, pulling the slightly smaller man into a hug, pressing his face into the crook of Zayn’s neck.

Zayn’s arms went around him automatically, his hand still tight around the award, while the other spread out warmly against his side, squeezing Liam tightly. “I got you, Li. I got you,” he heard Zayn whisper into his hair. 

Liam nodded, his breathing erratic and heavy, letting himself feel something for the first time in what felt like months. His fingers curled into the fabric of Zayn’s henley and he took a deep breath, marvelling at the scent of the older boy’s skin. 

“Thank…” He began, making a noise when Zayn squeezed him tighter. He pulled back slightly, dark eyes searching Zayn’s.

“Not yet,” Zayn whispered. “Thank me when you’re you again. Not just because you think you need to, okay? Let me help clear the junk from your heart.”

Liam nodded slowly, untangling his fingers from Zayn’s shirt to cup his cheeks, patting them gently. “Okay.”


End file.
